Little Empty Cauldron
by verasophya
Summary: Short story based on the song "Little Empty Boat" by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. Six years after the war, Severus and Hermione meet in a ministry celebration ball. How well will they get along? "Your knowledge is impressive, and your argument is good, but I am the resurrection babe, and you're standing on my foot!"


_Disclaimer:_

_All characters belong to J.K. Rowling._

_Song lyrics for Little Empty Boat property of Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds and Mute Records._

_I am writing this story for fun, not profit. _

It was that time of year again. 

The celebrations had started a week ago, and today was the grand finale. A sad excuse of a party where three traumatised generations of wizards and witches could prance around like peacocks in garish robes, pretending that life was perfect now, pretending they weren't afraid of their own shadows. 

Six years had passed since the demise of the Dark Lord, and he would bet his left testicle that not one of them was able to fall asleep without a nervous tick in their stomachs. 

Six years since he died and came back to a joyless life. 

Six years of dull liberty and fastidious routine. 

And every one of those years they insisted he be present at this farce. It was his only obligation as a war hero, they said. He was to be an example. Of what, remained to be explained, in his opinion. 

Still, he always came. It gave them the illusion that he was trying to be more _friendly_, and kept them out of his arse for the remaining of the year. 

So here he was presently, doing his best to discourage any social interaction by the cleaver use of his best unfriendly scowl, while watching a certain curly headed Gryffindor approach him with an ominous smile and a drink in each hand. Merlin, that girl better bring him good firewhisky, if he was going to have to endure her incessant chatter again. 

Miss Hermione Granger, brain and princess of the golden trio had for some reason adopted him as her latest project, therefore becoming an even greater annoyance to him than before. 

The girl now tried to socialise on numerous occasions, and even had had the audacity of starting to use his given name when addressing him, the impudent wench! Still, she had this entertaining quality to her that prevented him from leaving. 

And here she was now, saying his name as if it was a precious new toy she earned for being a good girl. 

He used his best velvety tone to greet her, with very satisfactory results. It made her blush and stammer, he had observed of lately, therefore providing him with another form of entertainment. 

She looked good in her blue fitted dress robes and her shorter, more tamed hair. Obviously one of those females that become more pleasant to look at with age and maturity. 

Determined too, if the talk they where having for the millionth time was any indication. 

She wanted him to live more, to use this rebirth as a second chance at happiness. To cultivate relations and find a partner for the cold winter nights. Even suggested a wizard dating programme. 

He respected her beliefs, Gryffindor sap that she was, and even begun considering her as a friend at some level, but he had already been born once, and did not, in fact, want to be born again. 

Intelligent and good talker that she was, she appear not to understand. 

He was broken, empty, and there was little that she could do to improve his situation, besides annoying him to no end. 

Well, there was _something_ she could do, but good girls did not usually do _those_ things with him, did they? Not that he had never considered this option, he was only human after all. 

Meanwhile they had gotten closer to the bar, and still she kept yapping away, eyes bright and smile inviting. He could but wonder if miss Granger would want to follow her own advice and be the one to warm his bed in this spring night. Bet she would look good panting under him, curls dishevelled and lips swollen... No, he could not do that to the girl, twisted and spent thing that he was. 

She deserved a young men half his age with an intact soul and a heart that would still be able to feel love. 

And yet she kept leaning in on him, looking pretty pissed, her breast rubbing on his sleeve and her hair touching his face, smelling of perfume. 

His penis was winning the battle over his conscience. He had been alone for so long, after all... 

Making a decision, he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her body against his, so she could feel his erection, whispering an invitation in her ear. 

He fully expected her to slap him and run straight to her friends for protection, or curse his bits of. 

He had not decided which was the worst yet. 

Instead, she just grabbed his back and pressed herself closer, uttering a prayer that went straight to his core: - 'Oh God, yes!'. 

That did it, and throwing the rest of his cautions and reservations to the the wind, he breathed to her lips:_  
_

_- 'Give to God what belongs to God, and give the rest to me. Tell our gracious host to fuck himself, it's time for us to leave...'_

_Author's notes:_

_The last sentence belongs to the song that inspires the story._

_If you don't know it yet, please go listen, it is amazing (just remove the spaces): www. youtube watch?v=EI-ZiNqXwYM_

_Thank you so much to all that read (or are reading) this story!_

_Love you all, and promise to reply to all reviews, when possible._

_Also, English is not my native language, so any constructive criticism / advice is welcome!_


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